


Dirty Dugouts

by mickmillk



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Public Blow Jobs, i really like mickeys beard i dont care what you say, lips a dick, mickey has a beard, whiney ian whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickmillk/pseuds/mickmillk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is exactly what it sounds like. Mickey's been on a drug run for two weeks, and Ian might miss him. They make it up to each other when Mickey gets home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Dugouts

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to ellie once again for being my cheerleader/editor.

Ian’s bored.

He’s been bored for the past 2 weeks, moping around, taking extra hours at the Kash & Grab, anything really to keep his mind off the annoying fact that he just really misses Mickey.

And it’s not just the sex.

Mickey is the tightest, not to mention most enthusiastic bottom Ian’s ever had the pleasure of topping, though he’d never say it out loud, mostly because he knows Mickey would beat him black and blue if he ever did.

The thought should scare him, instead it makes him smile.

Which means he knows he’s got it bad.

So no. It’s not just the sex. He misses _Mickey._

Dirty Mickey Milkovich with his awful knuckle tattoos, quick wit and threatening persona.

If Ian lets himself, he knows he’ll start obsessing over how Mickey is about 4 ft tall and how endearing he finds it, or how blue his eyes are when they’re focused on him or how blinding his smile is when he’s thinking about blowing up pre-schools or whatever it is he thinks about.

Because he has no self-control, he takes out his phone to text him for the 800th time that morning.

_How close are you?_

He taps his fingers rhythmically on the desk, waiting for a reply.

When his phone buzzes 45 seconds later (he’s not counting) he reaches for it so fast that he almost knocks it off the desk.

_How many times you gonna ask me that? I’ll get there when I get there_

He groans and throws his phone across the room, narrowly missing Lip who’s just appeared at the door. Ian ignores him, throwing himself face down on the bed like a teenage girl throwing a tantrum.

“Got a warranty on this thing?” Lip asks, bending to pick up the phone, inspecting the front and back. Seemingly satisfied, he tosses it back to Ian, who pushes it off the bed onto the floor without looking at it.

“Shut up.” It comes out muffled, his face in the pillow.

“Oh?” Lip laughs. “Sup with you, princess?” he asks, settling on the edge of the bottom bunk, facing Ian.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Ian mutters, and Lip nods his head, stares at the ground.

“You know I uhh.. I don’t think anything can top the pictures of naked dudes I found hidden in between that nudie mag, so. I mean you can talk to me if you got shit, yanno? Everyones got shit. We might have a little bit more than most people but. Everyones got shit.”

Ian can’t really argue with that. He turns his head to look at him, then sits up to grab his phone from the floor before sitting on the edge of his bed to face him.

“S’gonna sound stupid,” he says with his head bent, his hand lifted to scratch the back of his neck just because he doesn’t really know what to do with them.

“Probably,” Lip agrees, and smirks back at Ian when he looks up to grin at him.

Ian breathes deep and lets it out through his nose before he starts.

“Well…I been seein this guy, -“

“Mickey Milkovich,” Lip confirms.

“Yeah,” Ian says, then catches himself. “Wait I mean no! No, no I mean, – wait. How’d you know that?”

Lip shrugs. “Saw you two in the van last month. Your boyfriends got an ugly O - face.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Does not,” he mumbles. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Lip rolls his finger in the air, cueing Ian to continue his story.

“Well quit interrupting,” Ian says indignantly, throwing a pillow at his brother.

“Hey,” Lip laughs, shielding his body with his arm.

Ian stares at him for a moment, opens his mouth, closes it. Looks down to play with his fingers, starts to pace, and then it all tumbles out. “Mickey and I have been fuckin for like 3 months and I think I really like him – well I know I really like him – but you can’t just say shit like that to a Milkovich but the reason I’ve been a shit head for the past 2 weeks is because Mickey’s been on a drug run with Iggy and I think I might miss him a little? Or whatever?”

Lip doesn’t respond for a moment, and Ian looks up to see him smirking with wide eyes.

“S’that all?” He teases.

“No,” Ian shakes his head. “Miss him a lot,” he mumbles, and Lip snorts.

“Shut up,” he mutters again, and then shrugs.

“Just sucks. M’bored. Horny like, alllll the time.”

Lip curls his nose. “Right,” he deadpans. “Well I ain’t gotta tell you that there’s no use in sittin around mopin about a Milkovich, do I?”

Ian vehemently disagrees, but nods anyway. Lip doesn’t know shit about feelings. Has no room to talk with the way he let Karen fuck around on him all the time. Plus, he treats Mandy like shit, so Ian doesn’t really know why he’s confiding in him anyway.

He feels a little better once he realizes Lip’s opinion doesn’t really matter.

“When you’re done bein a girl,” Lip adds, “Mandy and I are seein a movie so. If you wanna come.”

It’s about as much as he’d expected from Lip, so he’s not disappointed, and he knows he needs to get out of the house to get his mind of Mickey so he agrees to go until he realizes that he doesn’t exactly have any money. What else is new, really.

Ian scuffs his shoes against the ground. “I don’t have any cash,” he admits grudgingly. “Spent the last 20 I had on minutes for the phone. Only way I can talk to Mickey, so.”

Lip walks towards him and puts his arm around his neck, steering him out the door. “I’ll pay your way,” he says. “Just try to keep your dick in your pants, horn-ball.”

Ian laughs and shoves him down the hall.

_

Mid movie, Ian receives the most glorious one worded text he’s ever gotten in his life: _Dugouts._

“Gotta go,” he jumps up, spilling the popcorn in his lap onto the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he whispers, stepping over it to jog out the door.

Lip shakes his head and takes advantage of his brother’s absence to stick his hand down Mandy’s shorts.

_

Ian is breathless, having run all the way from the theater to the dugouts where Mickey is waiting. He stops around the corner to lean over and catch his breath, not wanting to show up looking like he couldn’t fucking wait to see him. Which he can’t, but it’s not like Mickey needs to know that.

He turns the corner to see Mickey in the distance, spray painting red words on the wall above the gates of the dugout. It’s only the back of his head, but already Ian’s heart is hammering and his stomach is getting all fluttery.

Mickey turns to the sound of Ian’s footsteps, and Ian’s steps falter, slowing as he walks towards Mickey, all thoughts of asking about his trip out the window as he takes him in.

Because Mickey’s got a beard.

Like a real beard, the sides of his face and his chin and his upper lip are covered in dark scruff, Mickey’s usually pale skin hidden behind it.

It’s dirty.

It’s unkempt.

Ian is obsessed with it.

Ian is obsessed with it, and he’s very obviously staring at it.

“The fuck you lookin at,” Mickey asks, looking down at his shirt, and then over his shoulder. “Someone here?”

“You have a beard,” Ian states dumbly, grinning.

“Fuck off,” Mickey scoffs, running his hand over his chin, like he’s trying to hide it. “Been in a truck for 2 weeks. Am I gonna fuckin shave out the window?”

Ian smirks, both because for some unknown reason, the beard is turning him on, but also because the fact that Mickey hasn’t shaved means he didn’t even bother to stop home long enough to do anything before he came to meet Ian. He lets himself hope that maybe it means Mickey missed him too.

“You keep starin at me like that I’m fuckin outta here,” Mickey threatens, eyebrows raised.

“I like it,” Ian blurts, immediately regretting it.

Mickey smirks before he can stop himself.

“This scruff gettin you off, Gallagher?” He cocks his head to the side, smacking his gum with a shit eating grin.

Ian’s probably in love with him.

“I’ve seen worse” he grins back, closing the distance between them with slow steps. When he’s close enough to smell the mint on Mickey’s breath, he reaches up and tugs lightly on the hair covering his jaw.

Mickey bites his lip. Ian’s cock twitches in his pants.

“This gettin you off, Milkovich?” he mocks, feeling himself harden in his jeans.

“Shit head,” Mickey breathes, laughing, jabbing Ian in the ribs.

Ian laughs too, reaches up to tug harder on Mickey’s scruff and then he’s being pushed against the gates of the dugout and Mickey is working on his jeans.

Ian watches in amazement as Mickey drops to his knees, determinedly yanking both Ian’s pants and his boxers down to his ankles. He feels the cool night air on his body and thinks that if Mickey doesn’t get his mouth around him in 5 seconds he might cry.

He’s hard enough now that his dick is sticking out straight in front of him, but watches Mickey ignore it, goes in to bite him hard on the thigh instead.

“Ow, fuck!” Ian laughs, reaching down to grab a handful of Mickey’s hair.

Mickey smiles up at him. “S’whatchu get,” he says, and then he’s on him.

-

Say what you want about Mickey Milkovich, but the kid can give a blow job. It’s rare, no doubt about that. Tells Ian all the time how gay it is to go down on another dude. Not like takin it in the ass is any better, but Ian made the mistake of correcting him once and got the silent treatment for 2 days, so. Keeps his mouth shut now. Never asks for one. Never expects one. So the fact that Mickey is enthusiastically tonguing his balls right now is blowing his mind.

Ian doesn’t know how long he’s gonna last. Pupils blown wide, he watches Mickey while he goes down, bobs his head up and down and uses his hand to stroke what his mouth can’t fit.

But the scruff.

Mickey’s beard is scratching against his thighs, and he looks so fucking happy to have Ian’s dick in his mouth with his eyes closed and spit dribbling down his chin. He just looks so _hot_.   

Ian tells him that. “Look so good, Mick,” he sighs, and regrets it when Mickey’s slides off with a popping noise.

He’s about to apologize or take it back when Mickey mutters “fuck my mouth,” his voice wrecked from trying to take Ian in all at once.

Ian’s knees go weak. “You serious?” he wonders aloud.

“Do it before I change my mind,” Mickey growls, and clasps his hands together behind his back, putting his mouth back on Ian.

“Fuck,” Ian whispers, and shallowly thrusts into Mickey’s mouth.

He goes slow, not wanting to hurt him but Mickey rolls his eyes, grabs Ian’s ass and forces him forward, shoving Ian’s dick down his throat. Ian nearly comes when he feels Mickey moan around him.

“Fuck, yeah okay. Okay,” he grabs Mickey’s hair and starts thrusting harder into his mouth, doesn’t even notice when Mickey puts his hands back together behind his back, like he really wants this.

Mickey hollows his cheeks, uses his tongue, does what he can with the speed in which Ian is fucking into his mouth. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head, and Ian’s knees are starting to shake again, his orgasm approaching fast.

“Gonna come,” he warns, trying to pull away.

Mickey grabs his hips to keep him in place, and starts to go down, gagging on Ian’s cock, tears leaking from his eyes.

“Mick fuck m’ gonna – shit!” he groans, emptying himself to the back of Mickey’s throat, who fucking _moans_ around him while he swallows Ian’s spunk.

He pulls off with one last lick up Ian’s shaft, who shudders above him, leaning against the fence to recover from the fact that he’s just come as hard as he ever has in his life.

Down Mickey Milkoviche’s throat, no less.

Mickey stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. With his back to the fence, he leans against it next to Ian and lights a cigarette, handing it off after the first pull.

“Jesus,” Ian breathes after he calms down long enough to take a drag. “What was that for?”

Mickey takes the cigarette back from Ian and throws it on the ground.

“You gonna ask dumb questions or are you gonna return the favor?”

Ian can’t help but to grin as he sinks to his knees.

He really missed Mickey Milkovich.

**Author's Note:**

> you don't understand what Mickey with a beard does to me. find me at hesfuckingfamily.tumblr.com to talk about it.


End file.
